


Brave

by NovemberMurray



Series: Ember's Week of Mandomera [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: But there's a little plot, Chapter 4 Additional Scene, F/M, First Time, Former Slave Omera, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Mandomera Week 2021, Missionary Position, Not that kind of slave, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Soft Din Djarin, The Helmet Stays On, Virgin Omera, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberMurray/pseuds/NovemberMurray
Summary: “Would you like to stay, just for a while.” He tilted his helmet towards the doorway and the bed beyond. “I… I can’t take this off, but that doesn’t mean we can’t… if you wanted.”“I… I do,” she said, a flush of excitement in her cheeks and her eyes bright, but she worried her lip nervously. “It’s…” Her gaze darted around the empty path and dark houses. She stepped half a pace closer to him. “It’s just that…. I…” her eyes dropped to his gloved hand still wrapped around hers. “I haven’t donethatbefore.”--Before Din leaves Sorgan he offers to spend an evening with Omera. She's hesitant to accept - though not for the reasons he expects. Omera fears Din will reject her when he hears her story, but hopes - having a child of his own - he will understand her reasons.--Mandomera Week 2021 - Day 1
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Series: Ember's Week of Mandomera [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194752
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. This got WAY too long! I want you all to know I don’t usually write smut, though, god damn, do I read enough of it. I hope this comes out ok. I’ve never participated in one of these events so I hope I did this right. Either way, the prompts got me excited to write for this pairing.

Omera was standing in the door of the barn facing inside when Din returned from his last perimeter check. The setting sun fell across the face of the building, lighting her hair with streaks of gold but leaving her face hidden in the deepening shadows. She didn’t turn at the sounds of his approach, lost in her own thoughts.

“Are you alright?” He asked, trying to pitch his voice softly, but Omera still jumped. The helmet modulator could only ever be so gentle.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry,” she looked down at the boards of the deck. “I didn’t hear you come up. Your dinner is inside. I’m afraid it might be cold by now.”

“Thank you,” Din stepped up beside her. 

“Your boy is with Winta. They fell asleep watching the fireflies come out. I… I can bring him back to you when you’re finished eating.” She started to turn.

“We’ll head out tomorrow morning,” Din said before she could step away, forcing himself to say the words like pulling off a dirty bandage; it had to be done. 

“So soon?” Her question was soft. Din found he couldn’t look at her, even face the helmet towards her in a farce of meeting her gaze. He didn’t want to see the furrow of her brow or the frown on her full lips. 

“We’ve brought enough danger to your village already.”

“You saved us,” Omera said firmly, putting a hand on one of his vambraces. Din’s gaze betrayed him, raising to meet hers. He couldn’t stop himself from marveling at the fierce determination in her eyes, sharp sparks amid her soft beauty. “I don’t want you to leave thinking that is all we will remember of you. It will be the teachings and the words of encouragement we remember. You not only defended us, but you taught us to defend ourselves. That counts for more than you know, or… perhaps you do know.” And he did; anyone who had seen their home destroyed and been powerless to stop it would know.

“You didn’t need much teaching,” he pointed out. Omera blushed and looked away. 

“I will remember your kindness to your boy and to my daughter,” she said. “Everywhere else you pass through they might remember the warrior who brings danger and death, but not here.” Her hand slipped off the beskar vambrace. Din caught it before it could fall back to her side. He heard her breath catch. Even through the leather of his gloves her skin was warm. 

“Would you…” his words trailed off as his courage deserted him.

“Yes?” Omera asked, barely louder than a sigh.

“Would you like to stay, just for a while.” He tilted his helmet towards the doorway and the bed beyond. “I… I can’t take this off, but that doesn’t mean we can’t… if you wanted.”

“I… I do,” she said, a flush of excitement in her cheeks and her eyes bright, but she worried her lip nervously. “It’s…” Her gaze darted around the empty path and dark houses. She stepped half a pace closer to him. “It’s just that…. I…” her eyes dropped to his gloved hand still wrapped around hers. “I haven’t done _that_ before.”

Din paused in confusion. “You have a daughter.”

“I do,” Omera nodded, her shoulders rounded and shaking slightly. “But she… she doesn’t have a father. The other villagers, I told them he died because it was simpler.” Omera, brave and strong mother and protector who had faced down seemingly insurmountable odds without hesitation, looked terrified of the words spilling from her lips. Din was caught off guard by the urge to pull her into his arms, to shield her from whatever was stealing the confidence she usually wore with such poise. He was reaching out to take her other hand as well before he was conscious of the decision to do so. She returned his grip only tentatively, like she was afraid he might pull away at any moment.

“I couldn’t explain it to them. I didn’t think they would understand. But…” Her eyes flickered up for just a moment to meet the dark visor of his helmet. “You might be the only one who would.”

“Maybe you should come inside,” he offered. “We can talk and… see where it goes from there.”

She offered him a small nod and followed inside the barn, letting the door shut behind them. He briefly considered sitting together on the bed might be too intimate but Omera preempted his trepidation by pulling out a stool from a back corner. She set it beside the bed but more than an arm's reach away. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap when she sat, her knuckles pale even in the shadowed darkness. Din crouched in front of her and took her hands in his own again, hoping his touch could be comforting instead of intimidating. She relaxed a fraction, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief in the privacy of his helmet.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t know where to start,” she admitted in a whisper. 

“The beginning?”

“First, I need you to know: I love my daughter. She is my world and I would never trade my life with her for any other. I would do anything for her.”

“I know.” Rarely had he spoken words more true.

“I was a slave on Rorgus.” Rorgus was the second habitable planet in the same system, closer to the sun it shared with Sorgan and less forested. It was only slightly more developed thanks to the lucrative farming plantations, but it was even more lawless. “I was liberated when I was a young teenager by rebels, other freed slaves. I joined them, fought with them. That’s where I learned to shoot. I did that for years until I was caught again. I was put to work in the fields for a time, but the slave trade to Rorgus was always… expensive. It was cheaper to… produce their own workforce.” Her whispered voice grew even softer and her eyes never lifted from her lap. Though her words were filled with pain there was no bitterness or anger when she explained. “If we didn’t on our own they would send a droid to… help, artificial insemination.” 

Din wanted to be sick. Just when he didn’t think he could hate the metal monstrosities any more than he already did, he learned new ways they could destroy and violate. He tried to hold the horror from his voice and repress the shiver that passed down his spine.

“That’s how Winta was conceived?” 

Omera nodded. Bottom lip between her teeth. She took a deep breath and finished her tale: “I was pregnant when I escaped the last time. I knew I wanted a better life for her. So I bartered passage to Sorgan and found this place. I gave birth to her here and I told the villagers her father was dead.”

A tense quiet fell in the dark barn while Din struggled to hold back his helpless rage, and Omera waited for his judgement.

“You can say it. I know it’s true,” she broke the silence.

“Say what?” _‘I’m sorry that happened to you.’ ‘I’m sorry that choice was taken from you.’ ‘I’m sorry you were treated like property and bred like livestock for someone else’s greed.’_ Everything he had thought to say was pointless and hollow. Whatever he had thought, it was nothing close to what she expected.

“It was cowardly of me to leave when so many others are still enslaved. I should have stayed to fight for them.”

“And your daughter? If you had died or been recaptured, who would care for her? If _she_ had been captured what life would she have had? No.” He raised a hand to cradle the side of her face and whipped away a track of moisture running across her cheek. “No one could call you a coward for what you did.”

Her hands unclasped and one of them reached up to the back of his against her jaw, holding it there lightly. “Thank you. I...I hoped you would understand. But, I won’t blame you if you wish to take back your offer.” Her eyes darted to the doorway where he had invited her to linger.

“No. I still...,” he trailed off, his voice ragged with the warm desire pooling low in his body for this woman whose beauty was outshined only by her bravery and her selfless love. The admissions she thought might have driven him away only served to deepen the dangerous affection he already sheltered for her. But they did awaken new trepidations. “I want that with you, but I couldn’t ask that... not to be your first. You deserve someone who can give you all of themself, show you intimacy — pleasure I can’t.”

“I am not ignorant of pleasure. I may have been alone, but I have not denied myself.” She looked at him with half lidded eyes filled with heat that could have melted beskar. The image her words conjured up—her naked body laid out on a soft bed, copper skin glistening with sweat and her hand working between her thighs—made his blood pulse and the cup in his pants became painfully tight. His body leaned towards her even as his mind told him he shouldn't.

“You deserve someone....” His mind struggled for a word to remind her he was a blood soaked, brutal, scarred killer… he searched for a word to sum up everything he wasn't... everything she deserved. “...someone good.” 

“I found him,” Omera whispered, her eyes fixed on the visor that separated them. “I want _you._ ” 

Any control he had left melted away like snow in the sun. He tipped his helmet till the beskar brow gently touched her forehead, and he imagined he could feel the heat of her through it. He pulled his hands away and saw a flicker of disappointment that bordered on pain cross her expression, before she saw him working off the leather gloves, finger by finger. The breath caught in her throat again and she bit her lush bottom lip lightly: now with nervous excitement instead of nervous fear. 

The air was cold against the bare skin on the back of his hands and her skin was blazing hot when he ran them over her cheeks, her jawline, her neck. She gasped softly at the sensation, and her warm eyes fluttered closed briefly. Her own hands lifted up, cradling his helmet for a moment though she did not try to lift it, then sliding down to the high collar around his neck. He could feel the pressure of her fingers following his muscles and tendons through the fabric, sending shivers of anticipation down his spine.

 _I shouldn’t,_ he thought as he forced himself to pull his hands away from her singing pulse and started working at the clasps of his vambrace. _There could still be dangers here,_ he told himself as he pulled off the first piece of armor and worked on the next. _But Cara is keeping watch, the bandits are gone, there was no evidence the hunter had allies and it's unlikely he would have shared his leads with any of his competition,_ the other part of his mind shot back. Both parts were just whispers beside the loud demands of his desire. 

Din dropped the second vambrace to the floor and wrapped his arm around Omera’s waist, helmet still pressed to her forehead. He lifted her up onto her feet, the stool she was sitting on toppling over. She gasped in surprise before catching her own weight. He ran his palms over the fabric around her middle, marveling at the softness of the threads, how it gave under the pressure of his hands, conforming to the smooth swell of every curve and hard line of muscle on Omera’s back and hips. He rubbed his thumbs under the tie of her apron along the ridge of her hip bones that bracketed her center. She gasped and arched in his arms, her head tipping back out of the Mandalorian kiss. One of her hands pressed tight to the side of his neck and the other fisted in the fabric of his cloak as she clung to him to keep on her feet. His instincts screamed to pull her closer, press himself against her fully and relieve the ache throbbing in his pants. But there were still too many pieces of hard beskar between them, things that should never touch someone so gentle as her. 

“Can I help?” She asked, catching her breath in his moment of hesitation. Her long fingers trailed down to rest over the breastplate and the bandolier. His shaking breath was little more than static in the modulator of his helmet, and his whisper was rough. 

“Turn around and don’t look.” Omera’s face became somber, and she nodded slowly. She turned away, stepping just a pace out of the circle of his arms. 

His decision made, Din didn’t waste time. The cup in his pants had to go first, giving him some small measure of relief. Greaves, pauldrons, gun belt, boots: As his fingers worked the familiar fasteners, his eyes caught Omera moving too. She reached up behind her back to the tie of her apron and pulled it undone. Following his lead she stripped off her shoes and the rest of her clothing, completely unselfconscious before him. Din stacked his armor on the floor in shameful disarray, barely looking at where it fell because it would mean tearing his gaze from the new expanses of warm skin Omera offered up to him. His back and chest plate came off last but the under armor beneath had to go over his head. 

Omera let the last under-layer of her dress fall off her shoulders, dropping to the floor of the barn to pool around her ankles and leaving her bare. Din drank in the sight of every curve, her slender arms and the swell of her bottom above her strong legs. It wasn’t a child or a young woman’s body, but a mother’s: with full hips and a softness of age. There were scars of the hard life that she lived and the harder life she had survived before, the largest spreading over one shoulder in a puckered discolored brand. Yet Din thought it would be impossible to find a more breathtaking beauty in all the galaxy; a beauty tempered by tragedy yet still tender.

With shaking hands and his heart pounding in his ears—mixed fear and anticipation—Din lifted the helmet from his head. When Omera heard the hiss of the seals releasing he saw the muscles under the skin of her back tense. But she didn’t turn. Gently, he set the helmet on the bed beside him. It took only a moment to shrug the last of his armor off, leaving him in just his pants, bare faced to the darkness and Omera. 

On an impulse Din stepped forward, running a hand down the long tresses of her dark hair. They looked like liquid shadow flowing between his fingers. He lifted a lock to his nose and breathed in deeply, smelling the herb scented soaps the villagers made, smoke from her cooking fire, and that unique smell he caught only sparingly through his helmet when she stood close to him. He pressed his lips to her silky hair, tasting the smell on his tongue when he breathed in and shivering at the strange sensation of the smoothness and small snags. So little ever touched his lips leaving them over-sensitive. He wondered what her skin would feel like under his kiss. Would she taste like she smelled but stronger? Would she feel warm against the heat of his mouth as she did under his fingers? Would she gasp so breathlessly? 

He ached to know and, yet, he held himself back out of fear. Already he was toeing a boundary like he never had before, closer to breaking his Creed than he had ever been. Rarely had he willingly trusted anyone as he was trusting Omera now. No, he had never trusted anyone so much, because there was a part of him that wanted her to look. Part of him wanted her to turn around and see him, see all of him, ...to banish him from the Creed and the Way, the death and the fighting and the bloodshed, ...liberate him as she had been liberated from her servitude. And he knew part of her wanted to look too.

So Din _knew_ if he indulged even an inch further—if he put his lips on her skin—he wouldn’t be able to stop. He would break his Creed. He would fail the child who was depending on him. And he would still lose Omera in the morning. 

Din let the strands of her hair slip out of his grasp. He lifted the helmet off the bed and slipped it back over his face. The padding inside that pressed against his cheeks as it slid down was wet, a drop of moisture ran down his jaw to the point of his chin, and he tasted salt on his lips. 

Breath stuttering in his chest Din reached out to run his hands over her bare shoulders. She flinched at the first touch, surprised, then shivered with a sigh that sounded like relief. He took his time, running first the backs of his fingers over her smooth skin, then only his fingertips, tracing the edge of the brand across her back, then his whole palm. He curled his fingers around to follow her collarbone and the lines of her neck with one hand while the other spread flat across her breastbone. He used it to pull her backwards into him. His bare chest pressed against the naked expanse of her back, his forearm brushing across her breast, drawing one pert nipple across the delicate skin of his inner arm as he held her. Din wasn’t sure which of them made the satisfied sigh as she relaxed into his embrace, head falling against his shoulder. Omera reached back, finding his hips and the waistband of his pants. Her thumbs ran across it, mirroring the caress he had given her. The groan that echoed in the quiet darkness was definitely his but he was hardly conscious of making it. 

“I don’t think you’re going to need these,” she whispered to him, tugging on his pants, and he chuckled.

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

“I have never been afraid of you.”

“No,” he agreed, one hand sliding down her chest across her soft belly and the other sliding down from her neck to cradle one of her breasts. “Not even at the first. You were never afraid.” With a forward thrust of his hips and a steadying hand on her sternum he let Omera feel firmly against her back the press of his cock, straining against his pants. The friction was perfect torture and achingly inadequate relief. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and the knuckle of his first finger, feeling her shudder. Her abs fluttered with tension under his palm as it slid lower, fingers combing into the short curls between her legs until his longest digit found the slit of her mound and pressed in tentatively. She gasped at the foreign sensation of another’s hand where only her own had ever ventured. Her back arched reflexively though she could hardly tell if it was to get more contact or less.

“Shhh! _K’uur! Mesh’la kote’ad.”_ Din’s tone was soothing as he held her close and stroked her intimate folds, feeling the gathering wetness there but also the tension of her quivering body. That would not do. The last thing he wanted was for any discomfort or pain to mar this experience for her.

“You said you know how to find your own pleasure?” He asked, the helmet right beside her ear. She nodded against his shoulder.

“Will you lay down on the bed and show me what you like while I take these off?” He moved his hands to her hips, stroking her sides with his thumbs.

“Will you show me the same? How to make you feel good?” She turned in his arms, so close that her chest brushed against his. He nodded and walked her back to the edge of the bed. She all but collapsed on the covers, crawling up till she could get her feet on the edge of the frame. It was an indulgent image so much better than anything his mind could have come up with to see her reaching down between her own quivering thighs, the way her arms pressed her breasts together and how they shifted with her heaving sighs of mixed relief and anticipation as she spread her folds and ran a long dextrous finger over the swelling lips of her cunt. 

“ _Bid mesh’la.”_ He admired. She chuckled breathlessly.

“You’ll have to tell me what that means later.”

Din registered her words but his mind was struggling to make sense of them, too distracted by what he was seeing and trying to undo the fasteners of his pants at the same time. It didn’t help that all the blood in his body was rushing away from his brain to more important places at that moment. Finally the button and zipper gave way and he shucked off the offending garments as quickly as possible, stepping out of them as he took himself in hand with a firm stroke; blissful friction at last. He smeared the bead of gathering precum around the head, imagining how wet she would feel. Her fingers working in and out of herself were glistening in the low light. Omera’s eyes watched him intently as he stroked himself again, her movements synchronizing with his. He stepped forward to place his free hand over hers, pressing her fingers in a little more deeply and the base of her fingers a little more firmly against her sensitive nub. The moan it brought from her lips made his cock twitch and pulse in his hand. Her head knocked back as she bucked her hips up into his touch. She pulled her hand out from under his, letting him replace her fingers running over the now soaking wet expanse of her sex. 

He was aching to dive into her, but he held back a moment, needing to know if this was really what she wanted. He moved his hand up her stomach and across her hips, saying in a ragged voice:

“If you want to stop at any—” 

“No!”

He froze for a moment, thinking he might have pushed too far too fast. Omera moaned a mournful sound of frustration and her heels hooked around his thighs, drawing him closer.

“No, don’t stop,” she clarified. It was all the invitation he needed to climb onto the bed with her, settling between her spread legs. She reached up to wrap around his own grip on his leaking cock, feeling how he stroked it. Din let go and quickly closed her hand around the length of him, basking in the wonderful contrast of her soft palm and unfamiliar callouses. He urged her hand to move up and down slowly and at the same time slipped one of his own fingers into her experimentally. Omera was just as wet there, tight but not as tense as before. His cock throbbed and twitched in anticipation. 

“O-oh!” Omera gasped, though he couldn’t tell which touch brought the reaction. He removed his hand from her cunt to hold his weight as he leaned over her.

“Are you…?”

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes meeting his through the visor of his helmet like it wasn’t even there. So many of his lovers—if you could call them that—had ignored the helmet, simply avoided looking at him. Or they focused solely on it, to the point of forgetting there was a man underneath. Omera did neither. 

Din let his hips lower towards her center, and her hand helped to guide him to her entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through her moist folds to the blazing heat within. He pushed into her tightness with as much restraint as he could manage, his body shaking with the tension holding him back. His control nearly snapped when she moaned and arched off the bed, taking another inch of him inside of her. Din forced himself to pull back before trying to push deeper, giving her time and stimulation to become accustomed to the unfamiliar intrusion. He pressed further with each slow thrust, each one wringing beautiful soft sounds from her luscious lips. He didn’t think he had ever longed to taste anything as badly as he wanted to taste those sounds. The helmet dropped to the bedspread above her shoulder when he was no longer able to watch without losing himself to that destructive desire. It brought his chest flush against hers, pressing them closer together and drawing the sweetest sound yet from her throat, a long and drawn out mewl. Her hips bucked up and swallowed the last inches of his cock, pressing her firmly against him from pelvis to shoulders. 

Sheathed fully in Omera’s warm heat, wrapped in her arms, with her palms splayed out across his back, Din shuddered at the feeling of completion. It felt right in a way that transcended pleasure. Pleasure he had known and found in dirty dives and back allies. This was something else. His mind whited out into a thoughtless space that was only touch and sound and the ghost of her smell that lingered in his senses. When time and conscious thought returned to him, his hips were moving beyond his control, rutting into her tight wet heat with building urgency. He was relieved that there was no hint of pain or discomfort in the soft noises she made with every breath. Beneath his weight her hips moved the limited amount they could to chase each thrust, clumsily at first but with growing confidence and coordination.

“You feel so good,” Din whispered to her, unsure if the modulator even picked up all his words. Her hands clawed at his back, blunt nails dragging across crisscrossing scars and the hard lines of his muscles. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he begged.

“Don’t stop.”

“Don’t want to. Never want to. Don’t want to leave. Don’t want to let you go.” Words he hadn’t meant to say tumbled from his helpless lips. Omera’s breathing choked into something halfway between a gasp and a sob. It drove his blood higher and the pressure building in his groin doubled. He was thrusting into her with abandon, chasing the pleasure and trying to fight it at the same time. He needed this to be good for her, to leave her with something good to remember him by, but her body and her caresses were wringing pleasure from him in ways he didn’t understand, as if her hands could reach through a layer of armor he wore that wasn't physical, that no one else had ever breached... 

Omera spasmed, losing her rhythm, and tensed beneath him, squeezing his cock with the muscles inside her, making him see spots. A breath caught in her chest and her legs locked, pressing her up towards him as Din fucked down into her. He leaned back to see her face as she fell apart; her head pressed into the mattress, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a silent exclamation, then the tension all melted away into a look of utterly beautiful bliss. 

That look was what sent Din careening over the edge of his own pleasure, his orgasm slamming into him by surprise. He thrust once, twice more, burying himself in her with a soft ragged cry and grasping her thighs so tight he was afraid later he might have bruised her, but at that moment all he could feel was the rush of warmth and relief so sweet it made him dizzy. His entire body tingled and flared at every point of skin on skin contact. It was too much and not nearly enough; overwhelming and intoxicating. He sank onto his elbows, barely managing to keep himself from dropping all his weight on top of her as the aftershocks sang in his veins. 

Omera was breathing hard, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and eyes still closed as she recovered from her own ecstasy. Din eased himself out of her gently, but she still shuddered and cringed away from the friction against her over-sensitized flesh. He rolled onto the bed beside her, flopping onto his back with a heaving sigh.

“I was wrong,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse. “I didn’t know anything about pleasure after all.”

Din huffed out a quiet laugh, still not quite recovered enough to speak. He fumbled to find her hand and squeeze it, turning to look at her. 

“It means ‘beautiful brave-one’, _mesh’la kote’ad_ ,” he said. “That is how I will remember you when I leave tomorrow. So beautiful and so brave.” 

Omera met the gaze of his visor again, her lips trembling, and rolled over onto her side towards him. It seemed so natural to do the same, letting go of her hand to enfold her in his arms, to tuck her head beneath the chin of his helmet. Her breath was warm and fluttering as it stuttered out against his chest. She held him tightly and shook silently in his arms. Warm wet drops ran over his chest where it pressed against her cheek. He continued to whisper to her until she stilled into a light slumber. She couldn’t understand the words, so perhaps he said them more for himself than anyone.

“ _K’uur, ni gana gar, ner mesh’la kotep cyar’ika. An ven’cuyi jate’shya ti ca’nara. Ven’cuyi jate.”_

_(Hush, I have you, my beautiful brave sweetheart. All will be better in time. It will be ok.)_

**Author's Note:**

> If season 3 doesn't start with Din, no helmet and no armor, living with Omera as a krill farmer trying to deny his destiny I will riot.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are the bread and water on which my soul subsists.


End file.
